


Drag You Down With me

by dramady, edonyx



Series: Smile Pretty for the Devil [6]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking up is... easy. Staying broken up is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drag You Down With me

"So." Adam stands in front of Tommy, his hands on his hips, but no anger to the set of his shoulders. If anything, he looks ... resigned. He takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving and he says, voice quiet, so no one else can hear them, "I, um, I think we need to break up."  
_ _ _ _

See, what happened was this.  
_ _ _ _

"I just can't deal with you right now. I can't. If you're going to freak out? DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE."

Adam shouted. He never shouts. But he shouted, even pointing at the door, standing his whole height, towering over Tommy in his anger. "Get out of my face. I'm serious."

Tommy's expression is narrow and sharp, and before he can say anything else, _freak out_, like Adam's saying, and getting sucked back into this fucked-up thing that he's in. It's not like he even _thinks_ about his reactions; they just happen and he doesn't mean to! He's _trying_ here, okay? As hard as he fucking can, and Adam _doesn't understand._ "Fine. _Fine._" He takes _his_ scarf (yes, it's his, for the record) and wraps it around his neck, yanking up the zipper on his hoodie. "Fuck you, Adam Lambert."

It seems like a pretty fucking dramatic way to end a fight, and Tommy shoves his feet into his shoes and... leaves. The door opens, the door slams shut, and maybe Tommy speeds on his way out of Adam's fucking neighbourhood and back to his apartment. Fuck _you_, Adam Lambert.  
_ _ _ _

Then two days before that, there was this.  
_ _ _ _

"Holy shit," Adam groans against the back of Tommy's neck before rolling to his side on a heap on the bed. "That was ... so good..." He's on his back and he grabs Tommy around the middle so he falls too and he kisses his hair. "I love fucking you, by the way."

Tommy pants for breath, his arm over his eyes, and answers, hoarse and unthought, "I fuckin' love you." No. _No!_ That's not what Adam said, oh fuck. He said something about fucking, not something about love, and Tommy just opened his mouth and said something _insanely_ stupid. "Sorry, I- no. I heard you wrong." Twisting around to face Adam means his muscles twitch and jerk with residual effort and pleasure, but the expression on his face is nothing short of terrified.

"You... don't love me?" Adam asks, looking as shocked as he feels, as short of breath as he feels. "Oh." Shit. His chest feels all tight and he can't feel his fingers. Maybe that's from the sex? Speaking of ... He reaches down with a grimace and pulls off the condom, dropping it into the trashcan before he stares back at Tommy. "You... " Something tells him to let it go, but he still can't catch his breath.

"I didn't say that." The words come in a rush, trying to fix what he's just said, maybe take it back, without panicking entirely. "I heard you wrong, that's all. You were saying something about fucking, which was _awesome_, okay? Okay? It was. I'm sorry, it just slipped out, you know? Do you want a b-" No, Adam wouldn't want a beer, why in God's name would he want a beer? He never drinks beer. "-something to drink?"

"No." Adam sits up, throws his legs over the side and without saying anything else, goes to the bathroom, half-closing the door behind him. He turns on the shower, then turns it off and goes for the bathtub instead, stoppering it and then starting the water on hot with bubble bath. Screw it. He deserves a bath because his love life is a mess.

What the fuck just happened? Tommy's off the bed and following Adam, because, what the _fuck?_ At the bathroom door, though, he stops, a hand up as if ready to push. "Hey? Adam? I was just-" The words stop when Tommy presses his lips together, then bites on the insides of them. "What the fuck, I'm sorry, okay? I don't even know what I did, and I'm sorry." He'd just misheard what Adam said, that's all. He did _not_ take back what he said, so Adam can't accuse him of that.

Stepping into the tub, Adam sinks down into the water with a hiss; it's _really_ hot. Then he settles with his arms around his knees. It takes him a while to turn around. When he does, though, his face shows everything and it's not the prettiest picture. He's tired and confused and more than a little hurt. "Did you mean what you said?"

It's like a chant - I didn't take it back, I didn't take it back - before Tommy says, like a fucking parrot, "I didn't take it back, did I?" He's still kind of lurking outside the door, and when the vent comes on with a surprise against his right calf, Tommy goes and grabs his shorts. "I'm sorry. I thought you said- something. And you didn't. And I just kind of said something back. I never said I didn't mean it."

Somehow, that just seems to make Adam feel worse rather than better. How is that even possible? He rests his chin on his knees and sighs silently. In a voice barely low enough to be heard even in his own ears over the rush of water, he says, "yeah, well, I love you, too." And he shuts his eyes.

Okay, then. They've both said it and... now Tommy's panicking. Fuck. _Fuck._ "I should go home tonight." Because that's the best thing to say, _right._ And he can't take that back either, but maybe he can stumble out something less wrong. "I mean. It's just... that's a _big thing._ And we- _I_\- gotta think about it. Don't be mad, okay?" After his shorts is his shirt, then his jeans, and all of a sudden, Tommy's got all of his clothes on, and Adam's still in the bath. "I'm really sorry."

Adam doesn't turn around, though. Or even seem to acknowledge that Tommy's spoken.  
_ _ _ _

Before that, about a week or so, give or take, there was this thing.  
_ _ _ _

"I, well, I've been super busy," Adam tells Jim Cantiello, who, if Adam's honest, will say creeps him out, but anyway. He smiles and tries to dodge the "are you seeing anyone" question. But Jim is like a slobbery dog with a bone.

"Are you telling me you haven't dated _anyone_?!"

Only someone who knows him would see that Adam is rolling his eyes and biting back something scathing. "I'm not _celibate_ if that's what you're asking." And immediately, he regrets that, big time. He bumbles his way out of the conversation and moves away. When he sees Tommy, he winces. _Sorry_.

Tommy glances down at his hands, feeling the tips of his ears heat. And yeah, he can feel it with all that metal in there. Now, Adam's definitely not celibate, and he's seen the rumours _everywhere_ about them, between the AMA's (which Adam _still_ gets questioned about, god) and New Year's... fuck.

"So we're just fucking?" is the first thing Tommy comes out with when they're alone. "You're not celibate, huh? Glad to know that you're getting laid." He whips his scarf off and throws it at a chair, his sweater landing on top in a second throw. "Do you actually give a shit about what you- what _we've_ done?"

"I'm sorry?!" Adam draws himself up to his full height. "Are you - wait. I can go back out there, totally, and out us to Glambert696969 or whatever the fuck he calls himself. Sure. Let me go do that." He takes a step toward the door before whirling around. "Don't you ever even _dare_ accuse me of not thinking about you, or about us. Ever."

It's bullshit that Adam uses the fact that he's like, six inches taller than Tommy at _least_, to be intimidating. Fuck _that._ "How about you go and fuckin' say something like 'Yeah, I'm seeing someone, but we're trying to keep it _private_', because _that's what it is._" By now, Tommy's yelling, getting in Adam's space, expression narrow, challenging, hurt. "I'm working really fuckin' hard at making this fucking okay and you- fuck. Go, I don't care. Say whatever the fuck you want. You will anyway."

The silence between them stretches out for a long time before Adam says anything at all, then he only says, "... I don't even know where to start with all you said." So he just ... doesn't.  
_ _ _ _

So, that's about the size of it. Which brings us back to ...  
_ _ _ _

"So." Adam stands in front of Tommy in the other room as a party goes on somewhere else, his hands on his hips, but no anger to the set of his shoulders. If anything, he looks ... resigned. He takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving and he says, voice quiet, so no one else can hear them, "I, um, I think we need to break up."

Tommy only looks away, and that's just the beginning of turning around, turning away, and somewhere in there, there's a muttered "fine", before he's making to push past Adam and go toward the door, back to the party. At least there's beer there, maybe - probably - some pot, and he can try and squash whatever it is in his guts that makes him want to either be relieved that it's done, or make him want to beg Adam to change his mind.  
_ _ _ _

Just like that. Simple, right? _Wrong_. Fucked up is as fucked up does, right?  
_ _ _ _

At the party, Adam huddles up with Cassidy and lookee who's there: Brad. The ex-Brad. That Cheeks guy. And every time Adam happens to catch Tommy's eye, there's this hurt there that he can't quite mask. But he turns back to the gays (sorry, Cassidy, queers) and he drinks more. So that by the time the party is wrapping up, Adam Lambert is _Plastered_, slumped in a chair, holding Cassidy by the wrist.

Tommy's lying on the grass in the front yard looking up at the sky. Lisa came out to talk to him a little while ago, but he'd waved her away. It's just kind of better that he's by himself, when Adam's inside and Tommy's away from those cool blue-grey eyes.

"So, it went bad." Cassidy states the obvious, obviously. He pulls his wrist from Adam's hold to wrap an arm across the backs of his shoulders. "You want to have a pajama party at my place tonight?"

"I am _so drunk_," Adam tells him, eyes big and owlish. "He said he loved me. Kind of. He said ... a lot of horrible things. Ugh. It went badly. Take me home?"

"I know you're drunk, baby. What kind of horrible things? I can do something about that, if you want." Cassidy's only more sober than Adam by a drink or three, but he gets them both up and fishes out his phone. "So." Before he dials, because Cassidy needs to make things clear. "He said he loved you, then said shit, and you dumped him. Right?"

"...something like that, yeah." Adam gave up trying to explain, following the cracks in the ceiling instead, as they walk, his boots dragging along the floor. "Am I a horrible person? Like terrible who should never date because he fucks up people's lives?"

"One foot ahead of the other, come on..." He urges Adam's head onto his shoulder, because once he stops concentrating on those cracks, Cassidy's fairly certain Adam'll have a crash-course in sobriety. "You're not a terrible person. You're crazy high-maintenance, but you're not terrible. I don't have terrible friends, come on. It's bad for my reputation." The phone! Right! They're supposed to call a cab! Cassidy dials, listening to it ring. "Brad's not fucked up. Drake's not fucked up. Tommy's just a fuckjob. _Hi._ I need a taxi." The address is given and the phone's slipped into his pocket. "Speak of the devil." The lawn gnome, where he belongs. On the lawn.

"What?" There is sky where there was ceiling and it takes a minute for Adam to reorient himself. Plus his head is really heavy, too. Woah. Then he sees Tommy. "Oh, shit. Is he _dead_?! Did I kill him?! Oh my GOD!"

"Breathe," Cassidy warns. "You're not throwing up sugary booze on my outfit. I'm not forgiving you for something like that, ever." He looks at Tommy for a long moment, then swings his head around to look at Adam again. "He's not dead. I think he blinked. Come _on._ He can get himself home, okay? We should go."

"I'm fine," Tommy clarifies, not moving. He's got his hands folded behind his head and it's pretty fuckin' comfortable, except for the part where he thinks his ass and the backs of his shoulders are wet from the ground. Nice. "I can get myself home. I'm a big boy."

Adam stares a while longer, then remembers - they broke up because Tommy was an ass. That's right. So, he leans more heavily on Cassidy and doesn't say anything stupid like _forget what I said, come home with me, I love you._ And Cassidy, because he's such a good friend, gets Adam home and into bed even and stays with him, even cooking breakfast the next morning and listening to Adam grieve over Tommy and talk about how if he eats the eggs that Cassidy made, he'd throw up for sure. See? Cassidy is a great friend.  
_ _ _ _

The end.  
_ _ _ _

Haha. You thought it would really end there? But this is just where things start to get _Interesting_. Because it's not like Adam _fires_ Tommy, right? So, maybe a week passes, something like that, and the band is rehearsing for a new appearance. Which means that Adam and Tommy are together again.  
_ _ _ _

Holding his mic stand, Adam turns to Monte. "Again, from the top?"

Monte, long ago attuned to Adam and Adam's moods, just nods, counts off to LP and they start again, a cover of the old Fever, blending into the new Fever and Adam lets himself get into the performance of it and swivels on his heel and right there is Tommy and the words kind of stopper in his throat. Shit.

Tommy's watching his fingers on the fretboard, but he knows the exact moment that Adam looks at him, not just from the direction of sound, but he knows those eyes and how they feel on his skin. He's going to play as long as they're supposed to, if Adam picks up the words again - _fever, when you touch me, fever when you hold me tight_ \- or if the song falters out and they have to start again. Adam himself gets a glance out of the corner of Tommy's eyes.

"Sorry." Adam runs a hand through his hair. "I, uh, I think I need a break, actually. Five minutes? Five minutes. Thanks." And he rights his mic stand and walks out, in the direction of coffee, or tea, or... something that's not Tommy Joe Ratliff.

"I'm going out for a smoke." Tommy puts his bass on its stand and pats at his pockets. Yep, one lighter, one pack of cigarettes, and he's next out the door, fast enough that he can catch up with Adam. "I'm not the one being unprofessional." Because he's avoiding it, alright? By not looking at Adam and not letting Adam get close enough, and... watching him out of the corners of his eyes, wanting to simply go over and _lean_ on him. Let's be honest.

"Oh my God, fuck you. You came running to catch up to me to tell me that? Fuck you, fuck you, fuck _you_," Adam hisses, wheeling on him. "Fuck you. I can't believe I even wasted time thinking -- I -- never mind. I'm getting tea. Fuck you, Tommy Joe, Fucking ... just stay away from me. Just fucking stay away from me."

"I was _actually_ going out for a cigarette, but I figured that since you were the one that _dumped_ me, then you could handle it. Fuck, _I_ am, and-" Tommy's teeth snap shut, and he moves past Adam to go outside the building and light up. It fucking _sucks_ to feel like this, okay? It sucks (and probably hurts) as much as when Dimebag took a bullet. Christ. Tommy's bullet has a name, though, and there's no guessing as to whose it is.

"You can't dump someone who was never in the relationship to begin with." Adam's words follow Tommy out.  
_ _ _ _

The performance, despite the behind the scene drama, goes really well. That probably isn't surprising. The press eats it up; Adam is a genius! A true showman, blah blah blah. The fangirls on Twitter bemoan the lack of "Lambliff." Adam bemoans the lack of Lambliff, actually. Anyway, let's skip ahead another week.  
_ _ _ _

The closet smells like antiseptic lemon, but Adam tries not to notice that. Instead, he buries his nose in Tommy's hair as he pushes two fingers inside him. "Jesus Christ," he whispers hotly. "You're so tight."

"You know when the last time was," Tommy hisses back, canting his hips back against Adam's fingers. "It feels fucking good." One of his own hands comes up to bury itself in Adam's hair so Tommy can turn and smear a kiss against his mouth. "How do you want me?" Because right _now_ is going to happen, and Tommy's not going to ruin whatever this is by saying something stupid. Whatever this might be, it _isn't_ fighting or ignoring each other or any of that fucking bullshit.

"Just-- Move your leg a little, up? Yeah, mm, like that." That way, Adam can use spit and angle his cock just right and cant his hips forward and he's in and it's hot and tight and not fighting and so _good_ and how many times did he and Brad fuck after they broke up?

Shit, best not to think about that. Instead, Adam wraps an arm around Tommy's waist and pushes forward and pulls him back and murmurs against his ear, "God, you feel _good_."

Tommy's groan is stifled against his bicep as he braces his own weight with one hand against a shelf or something, and he tips his head back onto Adam's shoulder to breathe when his lungs squeak for air, rocking back against Adam as much as he can. "Oh. _Yeah,_" before his words slide away into low, breathy sounds. Nothing between them, not even the words they've bristled at each other. It's so much _easier_ this way.

It's ridiculously loud in the little space, the slap of skin against skin. Adam gets his hand around Tommy's cock and is stroking him too and doesn't try to hold back his moans, either. And it's been a few weeks, remember, so he can be forgiven for coming really quickly, with a body-long shudder, his mouth pressed to the curve of Tommy's neck.

It takes another second for Tommy to come, and it's a combination that confuses him, even as he's gripping the shelf with one hand and Adam's hair with the other: it's Adam's mouth, no shit, right? But it's the suddenness of it, and the jolt of Adam coming in him. It had freaked him out last time, the _only_ other time, but right now, the relief at being taken like this drowns out anything else. "We gotta. Before we get caught."

"Fuck." Adam doesn't let go, but he does pull his hips back and hey, a benefit of being in a supply closet! Bunches of paper towels and he can rip a pack open and eesh, they're rough. He hands some to Tommy too, finally releasing his hold on him and stepping back.

For some reason, he can't look at Tommy. But he says something before Tommy can. "This doesn't mean - you know?" And he's pulling up his underwear and pants.

There goes the relief. _I'm not _ celibate_ if that's what you're asking._

"No. It doesn't mean anything." Tommy cleans up and yanks his own gitch back into place, and it feels like his face is _really_ red when he reaches for the doorknob. "You ready?"

_No_. "Yeah," Adam says, a ball of soiled paper towels in his hand. Classy.  
_ _ _ _

Whoops.  
_ _ _ _

"So, like, how did you know that Katy was ... the one?"

"Adam," Kris chuckles over the line. "You only ask me that when you're doubting the validity of the idea of true love, or something like that, I can't remember the words you used the first time. And the second time. I just knew. That all the hassle was worth it. Which is what I told you the other two times."

"Am I that transparent and pathetic?"

"I better not answer that." But Kris's voice is warm and smiling. "You'll be okay, you know. Whatever it is, you'll be okay. You're a good person and you'll find love and all that."

"And you'll keep telling me that each time?"

"Each and every time, yeah."

"That must be part of why I love you, Kristopher Allen."

"It must be, Adam Lambert. That and I'm sexy."

"Well, yeah, that too." And Adam laughs.  
_ _ _ _

The problem with webphones is that they have a keyboard. A keyboard means twitter, or easier texting.  
_ _ _ _

Out of the blue, Adam's cellphone buzzes, and it's not even a tweet, it's an actual text message. _hay u want to cum over an get high?_ From Tommy's cellphone.

On the other end of that text, Tommy's already kicking himself. But he's not a fan of drama, and he wants to stay in this band with Monte and LG and Lisa and... Adam. He wants to stay around Adam. And that means getting shit set aside so they can at least be decent to each other. _bettur tahn the crap u get._

"God, learn to spell." Adam mutters the words to himself and he stares at his phone. Is Tommy actually serious? Or is this some kind of horrible joke? Talking to Kris actually made him feel somewhat normal-Adam. In control, decent, all that. Shot with two mangled text messages. Cum? Really? What should he do? He calls Cassidy instead. There's a movie premiere, too; he should go, keep his face out there.

So, that's settled. On his way out the door, he texts Tommy back. _Sorry, cant tonite._ See? He's in control. The pictures that show up online a few hours later show him looking just fine, smiling for the camera.  
_ _ _ _

But only one of those pictures shows how tightly he's holding his cell phone, mm?  
_ _ _ _

_r u free tonite_

The words pop up on Tommy's cell a few nights later.

_ya u want 2 hang otu?_ is the answer. Tommy's got his feet up on the coffeetable, a beer by his ankle, his 360 controller in his hand and a _mean_ game of Assassin's Creed 2 going. He's not a media darling, there isn't anything he _has_ to do, or anywhere he _needs_ to be. That part is nice, actually. _wat u want 2 do?_

_Go to Drakes show w/me :)_ Just like old times, huh? As he goes through his closet, Adam is really kind of hoping Tommy says yes. He was Adam's saving grace the first time around. Maybe it can just be grace this time. Peace? A truce? Something?

_shur. cum get me n the mustang i wanna party n stylee._ Which means it's _definitely_ time for a shower, if they're going to one of Drake's shows. Hunh, imagine that: Tommy's got something in common with Adam's ex! Being Adam's ex. Super, that's awesome. That doesn't change the way he flatirons his hair, sprays it into place, making it stick up in the back and lay down in the front. Clothes? It's only been since being around Adam that Tommy watches what he wears when he's out, and he picks out skinny black pants, a white short-sleeve shirt, a black tie with skulls dotted all over it. And of course, the creepers that give him an extra almost-two inches of height.

He can hear the car when it pulls up, the roar of the engine. Yep, Adam knows where Tommy lives, actually. Though he never went inside. So there's a moment's time before there's a knock at the door. But there's Adam, all decked out in his usual finery, worry lurking in the backs of his eyes. "Hi."

"Hey. C'mon in for a sec, I'm just finishing." Tommy steps back from the door to invite Adam into an apartment that's got instruments, posters, CDs, a laptop on the coffeetable. The TV's on, playing some cinematic of a dude in a white cloak cradling some Italian dignitary before cutting his throat. Oh yeah, Assassin's Creed is still on, oops. "You look, uh. Nice. I just gotta brush my teeth and then we can go."

"...okay." Adam steps in, looking around, his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for going with me. It's kind of awkward to go alone." He stops himself before saying that everyone else was busy. That would just be rude. "... so this is your place."

"Uh-huh!" Tommy answers from the bathroom where Adam can hear the buzz of his toothbrush, and then Tommy himself comes back in to wave his hand at Adam, a little. It's no biggie to go to Drake's show, they've done it before. There's a moment where their eyes meet, and it almost makes Tommy forget that there's a toothbrush humming in his mouth for how bad he wants Adam to kiss him. Instead, he turns away to go back into the can, spit out a mouthful, rinse, and come back. "You like it?"

"Um...." Adam has to laugh, arching a brow at Tommy. "It's definitely a guy's place." But he shrugs. "It's nice. I've never spent much time in Burbank. I went right from San Diego to Hollywood ... " Which sounds canned and lame. Awesome. "Um ... ready?" Maybe driving will be less awkward? Or kissing Tommy until they're both flushed and aching.

Bad idea, Adam. He takes another deep breath. Okay.

"Jumped right into the glitter," Tommy clarifies with a little half-smile that Adam would know, and there's even that sly look out of the corner of his eye. "I'm ready, yeah." The Scarf is wrapped around his neck because what the hell, it matches his tie, right? On top of that is a sweater, and keys, wallet and cigarettes are pocketed. When he turns fully to Adam again, there's that expression that Adam knew from the very first time, that sense of _wanting._ And waiting.

"... don't," Adam says and it comes out almost like a plea. He pulls out his keys and he goes to Tommy's door and he stands at the door with his chin to his chest. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe ...

Dammit, they can be friends! They can. Somehow. Right? They're going to be touring together; this needs to work or something needs to give. Okay. He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

Tommy's right behind Adam, ushering him through so he can lock up, but that means touching Adam to urge him out of the way. It feels like electricity, like a shock that makes Tommy numb, but somehow he fumbles out the keys he'd just put in his pocket, slotting one in the lock and slamming it across. "Don't, what?" He doesn't even realize that his hand is still on Adam's arm.

"Don't look at me like that." Adam shrugs off Tommy's hand as he walks toward the car, concentrating on beeping open the doors instead of on how tiny Tommy is, how Adam knows Tommy _feels_ against him. Maybe he'll concentrate on how shitty things were. That's a good plan. Because they were really shitty. "I think you hated me as much as you loved me anyway."

"I never hated _you._" That's a really fucking unfair thing to say, too, Adam Lambert, and Tommy adds that under his breath before getting into the car. "I wasn't looking at you in _any_ way, either. I was just... looking. 'cause you look nice." Tommy can't think of the shitty things, because all he can think of right now is about the way Adam's hands feel, or how his mouth might taste. Fuck. This is _weak._

"You weren't just looking and you know it. God." Adam buckles his seat belt and starts the car and on blares Gaga and he's slow to turn it down because it definitely seems to be better if they don't talk. "What did you hate, then, if it wasn't me?" He asks when the music is turned down and he starts to pull away, heading back toward Hollywood.

"I _looked_ at you. I didn't realize it was a big fuckin' deal." Tommy looks out the tinted window as the neighbourhoods move by them. "It wasn't you that I hated, okay? Just... take it at that." Already, he's itching for a cigarette, a habit that had only ever come out when he'd be out drinking or hanging out with his buddies, but seems to have taken a more permanent residence in his lungs since Adam dumped him. "It's not like you're any better, anyway. You- you do _stuff._"

"Stuff?! What are you, five?" Adam rolls his eyes, the GPS telling him where to go. "I do stuff. That's great, Tommy Joe. That's great." Where is the fucking freeway?

"Why don't you insult me a little more, Lambert. Stop the car at this corner, huh? I think Drake'll understand if you don't show up with an ex, right? One's enough at a show like that." Tommy's unfastening his seatbelt, because, really, this _was_ a bad idea. They're not ready to hang out outside of practice or shows or anything, obviously. "I'll just fuckin' cab home or something. Sorry that I said yes to your fuckin' date."

"Wait. Just ... " Adam did pull over, but he locked the doors again. "Just wait. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. This is really fucking weird and I don't want it to be weird. I kind of wish we'd never gotten together and just could be _friends_." He works the leather of the steering wheel, watching his fingers instead of looking at Tommy.

"I don't wish that." Tommy looks down at his own hands. "You showed me shit I didn't even think about. Like, stuff I didn't know. Stuff that could feel that fuckin' good that-" His mouth pinches shut and he shakes his head. "Doing this makes me feel like I got a knife in my guts. Just... pretending things are alright or that it didn't mean anything or whatever." Or that Tommy doesn't still maybe love Adam, hidden underneath anger and fear and a sharp sense of betrayal that Adam had pursued Tommy, and now they aren't together.

"It meant something. It meant a lot." Adam squeezes the wheel again and the leather squeaks against his gloves he's wearing. "It's not like I've been in love with a lot of guys. It ... it meant a lot." And then he looks over, and his eyes are showing all that he doesn't wait to show, but it's there. Deal with it if you want, Tommy, or not, up to you.

"So why would you wish it never happened?" Tommy looks full-on at Adam, but before he can let the singer answer, he's launching himself over to kiss him. Fuck all of that, okay? Fuck it. This is fucking torture, just trying to fake it along as friends, when it's plain to anyone who's got a pair of eyes that there's tension as hard as steel between them. "Okay?" Tommy breathes between kisses. "Okay?" Get this, Adam: you broke Tommy. You made him yours.

Ouch. There are teeth in there and seatbelts that don't want to give because Adam has the brake on. With a thought process he didn't know he had, Adam throws the car into park and then he can get at Tommy's seatbelt and undo it. From there, there's enough room between Adam and the steering wheel, just, for Tommy to slip in, for Adam to cup Tommy's face and kiss him back. "Okay," he says. He's guessing Tommy doesn't really want an answer to his question after all.  
_ _ _ _

Let's skip ahead, shall we? No? Oh, damn. Are we interrupting?

Sorry. Don't mind us.  
_ _ _ _

Tommy's fairly certain that if he leans back, his ass will probably honk the horn and... well, he kind of finds he doesn't care. Not when Adam's kissing him back, hands keeping their mouths angled together, and fuck, just like that, just as suddenly as at the club when Adam had muttered low and hot in his ear, Tommy's hard up against Adam's stomach. "Oh god," he whispers, a moment before licking into Adam's mouth.

The "oh, God," seems to jar Adam back into reality and he leans back, head bouncing off the headrest, hand cupping Tommy's jaw. "We can't do this," he mutters, eyes opening. It hurts even to say that. "We can't. Tommy, I can't go back to what was. It was ... horrible. It was awful. You made me feel like shit and I clearly didn't make you happy. We can't do this."

Tommy's tongue comes out to dampen his lips, trying to think about what Adam's just said when all he feels is _want_, like metal drawn to a magnet. The need to be here, to be close. "I didn't mean to make you feel like shit. Not- it's just- it's super hard to try and do this and learn and be what you want when I barely know what I want." There's one absolute, the one thing he'd held onto from the get-go. He wants _Adam,_ but can't hold onto him, it seems. Tommy turns his head just a little to bite one of Adam's fingertips.

It sends a shoot of electricity right to Adam's cock, which, in his leather pants, is uncomfortable to say the least, and his hand slides around the back of Tommy's neck, holding him there. Shit. "Do you know what you want, now, Tommy Joe? Because I never wanted you to be anything but you. If I gave you the impression of anything else, I'm sorry."

When Tommy feels the way Adam _holds_ him, there's no way he can move. He doesn't _want_ to, which goes a long way toward actually not moving, but the broad warmth of Adam's hand completes it. "You." It's what Tommy's wanted the entire time. Adam might not understand how hard it is to learn his new side of himself, but Adam is all Tommy's wanted since... hell, since they met. Even before that fucking club or the AMA's. "I can be me if you can be you."  
_ _ _ _

We'll come back to this. Promise. But let's flash back, shall we? To the day Tommy and Adam met. Audition day.  
_ _ _ _

"I don't know one bassline from the next," Adam whispered to Monte. "Just tell me if they're any good, okay?"

Monte smiles and nods, showing Adam the notes he's been taking, just as the door opens and bassist number 43567, or something like that, comes in.

"Oh, shit," Adam mutters behind his hand. "This one's _cute_."

"Hi," Tommy starts, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "I'm Tommy Joe Ratliff, I'm 28, from Burbank. I play guitar, keyboards, and bass, but since you've got a guitarist already..." Monte gets one of Tommy's smiles that are more felt than actually seen before he plugs into the amp. "Figured I'd play something that's got a little more of a bassline to it... something like The God That Failed, by Metallica? Is that cool?" If he watches the guy with the goatee, then he'll play fine. As long as Tommy's not looking at those blue eyes rimmed in black, the ones that'll ultimately make the decision.

"Cool," Monte tells him and sits back. Adam sits back too, because Monte sits back. Because Monte knows. God, Tommy Joe. Who goes by Tommy Joe? It's so cute. _He's so cute_. And of course, the bassline is a ... bassline and it's fine, so far as he can tell. but Monte nods and asks Tommy something about his technique, picking rather than fingering, which sounds vaguely dirty and makes Adam laugh.

God, they've been auditioning _all day_.

"I only really finger when I'm doing something dirty like the Chili's, you know? Or old Metallica, 'cause Burton was a finger-player. Newstead used a pick, and so does Trujillo. Fuck, I think I'd give my left nut to be able to play something like Primus. BWOOOOW!" He smacks his fingertips against the strings, making the bass let out a blurry, buzzing sound before muting the strings. "When are you going to be letting everyone know?"

"Um." Adam can't resist piping up, which he's done all day too and Monte's a champ for just kind of letting him. "Right now, actually? Just hold on a second. Do you go by Tommy? Tommy Joe? TJ?" He's got his hand on Monte's wrist, waiting for an answer before he confers. Most of the names went right over his head, though of course, he has heard Metallica and Primus and he assumes that the Chilis are of the Red Hot variety. BWOOW.

"I will honestly cut a bitch if anyone calls me TJ, I shit you not. I just go by Tommy, and that's it." On his birth certificate, it's Thomas Joseph Ratliff, which sounds pretty formal and kind of teacher-y, and the only people who get away with Tommy Joe or TJ are his parents. _Maybe_ his sister, if he's in the right mood.

So, was he that awful that they made their decision right now? Because Tommy's attention turns to Adam and it feels a little bit like getting caught with his dick in his hand: startling, embarrassing (which does _not_ make sense), and... a little flushed, which is definitely on the scale of one-to-weird. "Should I just pack my shit up and tell you guys to have a cool day, and thanks for letting me waste your time?"

"You talk a lot. Just give us a second, okay, Tommy Joe?" Adam's grin is big and flirtatious and warning all at once. Easy does it there, hoss. Then he leans over, his hand covering his mouth at Monte's ear. "Is he good?" He asks and Monte turns his head, telling him that the kid is good. Competent. Turns out, Monte's seen Tommy in one or five of the dozens of bands he's been in; knows his stuff pretty well.

"He'd make a good balance."

Adam nods and looks over at Tommy again. It shouldn't be this fun to toy with someone. Maybe because Tommy is so _vivacious_.

Tommy's eyebrows go up, questioning. No shit, he talks a lot. It's what he does, it's what he's good at. That, and smokin' hot riffs. He unshoulders his bass and rests the stock of it against his hip, waiting for whatever it is that Adam Lambert and Captain Goatee have to say. Monte. Tommy's seen him, too; he's a cool guy, no bullshit, lots of talent. It'd be nice to play with him.

And Adam. Shut up.

"He's cute."

And Monte cracks half a grin. "Figured you'd like that."

"Shut up." But Adam laughs. "Okay, Tommy Joe. Answer one more question for me. What's your favorite movie?"

"Tommy. By the way." One hands rests on the headstock of his bass while the other combs his bangs to the side. "Right now it's Zombieland. I'm a big fan of zombie death of the week, you know?" He's always been so big into horror, even tattooing his favourite actors and actresses on himself. "I think my all-time is The Exorcist, though. I got a piece of Linda Blair right here." A sleeve is pushed up and the tattoo's shown to Adam and Monte. "If you're basing if I should be in the band or not by what kind of movies I like, man, that's weak. Just saying."

"Okay," Adam says quietly. "I guess we'll see you around, _Tommy_. Thank you for your time." Kid is cute, but kind of an ass. Too bad, that. Adam was all ready to hire him, too!

Monte raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, looking over at Tommy. The boss has spoken, after all.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like I was being a dick," Tommy says, hefting his bass up to shoulder the strap. "Just... nobody calls me Tommy Joe. I'd think that people were going to get the wrong impression of me... it wouldn't be the wrong impression at all." The quote's off, he knows that, but it might be worth something. Horror movies are at the top of Tommy's list, but other stuff like Velvet Goldmine and Party Monster are up there, too. "Take care, guys. Have a good one." He comes over to shake Monte's hand, and there's a flash of hesitation before he holds his hand out to Adam, too.

"Velvet Goldmine." Adam takes Tommy's hand and gives it a shake "Fantastic movie. Way better than horror movies." There's a challenge there in his eyes, if Tommy's dude enough to take it.

"All depends on what you're into." Adam gets a flash of a real smile from Tommy. Challenge accepted! "And what mood you're in." Another quote: "Style always wins out in the end." Adam likes Velvet Goldmine, huh? Somehow, Tommy's not surprised. "But, yeah. You'll be letting people know, right? Thanks for letting me play for you, it was really cool." For some reason, Tommy's guts are knotted up. He _wants_ this gig, really bad.  
_ _ _ _

Funny way of showing it, don't you think? Some people try to kiss up. Others just be themselves, we suppose. It turns out that there were a lot of bass players who wanted the gig, too. But none were cute in that same, small, smirky way.

Seems Tommy won on a technicality. But of course, we all know about the "you can do anything you want to me" thing, right? Anyway. Where were we? Oh, right.  
_ _ _ _

When Tommy feels the way Adam _holds_ him, there's no way he can move. He doesn't _want_ to, which goes a long way toward actually not moving, but the broad warmth of Adam's hand completes it. "You." It's what Tommy's wanted the entire time. Adam might not understand how hard it is to learn his new side of himself, but Adam is all Tommy's wanted since... hell, since they met. Even before that fucking club or the AMA's. "I can be me if you can be you."

"I'm always me," Adam says, brows knitting together. "If you don't get that, Tommy, I'm not sure you understand me at all." For some reason, that idea, with all they've been through, feels like a knife in his chest. "I don't even know." What had they even done together? All this time? The whole world knew him, after all.

"You've always been you." Tommy ducks his head, looking at whatever it is that Adam has on his shirt, or maybe counting his necklaces. He's still spread across Adam's lap in a parked car, hands resting on Adam's shoulders. His words start again, but they're slow, halting, like he's afraid that Adam might take them wrong. "You're... you're fuckin' sexy. And confusing to me." The look that Adam gets is meant to stop anything that Adam might say. "Because bein' with a guy is totally different than being with a girl. This is _my_ shit to deal with, 'cause I'm trying to figure out who I am, now. That's... that's what I hate. Not you."

"Because you're not gay," Adam say quietly. Tommy's mantra in the beginning, less so toward the end. Because they were always fighting. Fighting or fucking. Screwed up to the max, right? "And I can't be with someone who's not comfortable with himself." And for a second, Adam looks just like he's going to cry. He touches Tommy's face, his mouth before letting his hand drop.

Even with just that little touch, Tommy's lips part against Adam's fingers, and it's nearly a minute before Tommy can find the words he wants to say. Words he barely has the courage for, and here was Tommy, thinking he was a tough guy! Hah! "Maybe I am. Gay. Or bi. Fuck, don't look like that, okay? Please?" He cups Adam's face in his hands and turns it up so they can look at each other. That's one of the _worst_ parts of being in a relationship, when he makes the other girl cry. Or Adam. "It wasn't just fucking, for me. I was-" Adam can almost see the anxiety on Tommy's face, as deep as a scar, and Tommy makes himself finish. "I'm in love with you. I don't understand it, and I don't know how it happened, but."

"God, you're such an ass." But Adam says it without heat and without venom, almost helplessly, because that's how he feels; helpless. Lost. "Does that mean no more freakouts? I can't do the freakouts anymore. I'm serious. And I seriously can't handle anymore of the weirdness. I want normal. I'll out us with someone and everyone will know. That's how it's supposed to work. And your twitter will explode and people will take pictures of you and Perez Hilton will develop a snide obsession with you and I ... will love you. Is that what you want, Tommy Joe?"

Again, there's a long stretch before Tommy talks, but before the words come, he looks at Adam's face, as much startled by this side of him as he'd been with the side that'd showed up after the FYE video shoot. "If I freak out, it won't be around you. Because I can't promise that. But... I can do normal. Before you tell anyone though, I gotta tell my mom and dad, you know?" His mouth is pulled down into a fine line, and it's Adam's lips he's looking at, instead of his eyes. He can't look there, not yet; the intensity of Adam's gaze is just... too much. "It's what I want. Will you help me?"

"God." Softer yet, almost a whisper. "You can hurt me so bad. You know that, too. That's what's most frightening. Fuck it," he says, almost to himself and he pulls Tommy forward and he kisses him and it's unlike any kiss they've shared before. It's slow and almost tentative before deepening. Adam makes a sound in there, too, but he doesn't know what it is.

"Don't wanna," Tommy murmurs between presses of mouth. He wants to go back to band practice being fun, hanging out with Adam with maybe a different level of comfort. One hand cups the back of Adam's head, and he thinks _the curve of your lips rewrites the world_, and if that doesn't make him gay, Tommy's not sure what would. Well, Adam's cock, but that's neither here nor there, and Adam's already pointed out that Tommy's been in some of the gayest positions out there. Whatever. "Okay?" Tommy pulls away, still close enough that his bangs tickle Adam's cheek, and he can feel Adam's breath on his lips.

"Okay."  
_ _ _ _

It's probably not surprising that when they get to Drake's opening, they are more than a little fashionably late and well, it's pretty obvious that they've been kissing.  
_ _ _ _

The opening goes really well, actually. Tommy sticks by Adam's side, brushing fingers with him now and then. For now, he's careful of how they talk, how close they are. It's the last thing he wants to surprise his parents with, though he knows they read all the gossip bullshit. Hell, they _laugh_ over it... or did, before it actually turned real, and now Tommy has to be honest with them on top of everything else. At one point, a camera catches Tommy's hand on the small of Adam's back, just a touch before passing by to go and grab another beer.

And of course, it explodes. The fangirls tweet about it like crazy and Tommy gets all kinds of questions via twitter about how Adam is in bed and all kinds of things that are surprising coming from strangers. Sure enough, Perez Hilton, after the AMA kiss and the other pictures of them together, gets the photo and does his drawing on it, which is, of course, seriously disgusting.

"Ugh," Adam says, the next morning as he looks at his computer. He's got an old t-shirt on and sweatpants and his hair is sticking up every which way, make up still smudged around his eyes. "They caught you."

"Fuck," Tommy mutters from the couch, where he's sprawled out with a coffee cup resting on his bare stomach. "What'd they catch me doing? Scratching my ass?" He's still pretty tired from last night, from the physical and the emotional, and then more physical. "Thanks for letting me stay, by the way. I figured you wouldn't wanna drive me back to my place last night anyway." The cup is set on the coffee table, and Tommy loops an arm behind his head.

"I don't think I want to know when it was that you last changed the sheets on your bed anyway." Adam gives Tommy a smirk over his shoulder. They'd dirtied his sheets instead. "You were touching my back in this picture. Perez drew on you. You've made it now, baby. You're a _star_. Do you want to see? You can sit on my lap."

Tommy gets up, just like that, and with a smirk of his own, sits on Adam's lap. But it's facing Adam instead of the computer, and there's a spark of challenge in Tommy's eyes. "Of course fuckin' Perez drew on it. He's such a _douche._ And it's weird how obsessed he is with you." Adam's the star; Tommy's just the backup, just like Monte, Lisa, and LP. Adam's the star, and suddenly Tommy realizes how lucky he is to be this close to it.  
_ _ _ _

Awww. The end. For now. But you know something this idyllic can't last, right?


End file.
